Once, I hadn’t felt so alone.
I’d always been able to hear it — a high and rasping whine of worn metal gears. The same way that those born before the Great Wave described the ability to smell petrichor, how they felt a stubborn ache in their bones as storms crawled in. How I often described the noise telescreens used to squeal out as they powered, before it was mandated to always leave them on.
Others lost their ability to hear long ago, with growing pains and impatience for control, they now lacked the perception I had innately retained.
My head was pressed fully against the wall of screens, hawking for any details in the shallow rivets of the scuffed display. Their blankness taunted me as I waited for them to come alive. Feeling the static dance across the screens, I lifted my head away and watched as others slowly came alive. The room warmed with the comforting haze of blue I knew too well. The screens were dialed into my Designated. Many, but I was sure not all, stared back at me unknowingly. I couldn’t help but feel almost empathetic towards my Designees. I, too, had once been one of them. Watched knowingly, as my Observer noted my life for their own reports — a single misstep from myself and I’d never be seen again, by that Observer or otherwise.
Moving to observe my Designated now, you would have been surprised how easily people seem to forget they could be watched. Before the Great Wave, we had only ever made light of the idea that we were of the Observed, going about our days with only ourselves in mind.
Then again, that was before my selection, before I was given my own Designation.
Now, as my Designated were borne before the Observers — before me, they displayed their most shameful and disgusting selves. I know I had never done so. I had always been able to hear what my Observed could not, what I hear is imperceptible to all but me. The ideology of privacy had been carefully curated for the masses to ensure that Watchers like myself could peer into the lives of the Designees as we were scheduled, hidden sleuths of a darker nature for the State.
I had always enjoyed watching people, they gifted my prying gaze their secrets unwittingly. Admittedly, that’s why I had been selected by the Observers. The act of watching — of observing and recording behaviors came as naturally as breathing. Being selected to join the Observers had, at least, given me the opportunity to fulfill my own interests, while also maintaining a noted contribution to the State in which I no longer belonged. My new existence was only within the Observed — a solitary experience to view and experience life through my Designees. The wall of screens had become my entirety. By being selected, my life began with the screens, and I knew I would one day end with them. I no longer existed in the way my Designees did.
My vision continued to scan over the screens idly, the grainy images of each felt like it was mocking me, testing me to discover what my Designees were hiding within their private worlds. They always maintained similar patterns; it helped me feel the flow of time during my Observation shift. Designee 12 was always following the mandated exercise program for her age group, her face never failed to turn the most endearing shade of red. Her desperation to not fall behind was too prideful, her shirt darkening with sweat, all the while I watched and repeated the same notes I always did.
“Designee 12 is unable to maintain status within age group — Increase fitness regimen level.”
Shifting my gaze, I watched as Designee 18 entered the frame carrying her daily rations. Over time, I had watched her bag filled only with emptiness, her stomach continuing to grow. She offered me more information than the others as far as the current success of the State. Her face had drawn gaunter in the past few months, cheeks sunk in deep, gripping to bone as if thin cellophane had replaced her skin. Despite the stomach growth, her shirt hung from her body in an amorphous shroud, and I watched as it grew threadbare in places she couldn’t afford to patch. The tenacious parasite stole what little nutrients she had to offer, but the State would not provide unless she had admitted to the growth. Continuing my notation of reports;
“Designee 18 has yet to inform the State of her growth, monitoring progress while reducing allotted ration cards.”
They had not drawn any significant attention from me as their Observer, but I continued to find myself noting down the movement of time through them. None of these people likely mattered at all to the Overseers, but I fulfilled my duty to continue to watch, satisfying my desire to fully integrate myself into their worlds. I could feel the warmth light my cheeks as I watched them change to my mold of them over the months, forcing their desperation and guilt to higher levels until they, too, found themselves surrendered to the State.
Unlike my others, Designee 04 always sat in the back corner of the frame, his face pushed against his own telescreen; contorting his back in such a way that I could nearly count each notch down his spine. The only sign of movement I had noticed from Designee 04 in the past was the mist of precipitation that built up on his telescreen from another view I could flit through. I had only checked that screen once before, a sickening curiosity had taken hold and, before I had noted what my hands were doing, I was against his mouth — my fingertips pressing into the cold glass were not enough to protect me. Not even the pixelation was enough to spare me from the heat of his gaping mouth, yellowing teeth that were visible had signs of rot, the others had been entirely missing, showing festering red gaps that groaned out pus while he panted. I felt myself cringe away from him and his horror; his fervent panting fogged over the screen as a shield. His behavior and his decay — they felt as though they were meant only for me. That he was designed only for my viewing.
As always, I noted;
“Designee 04 Demonstrates and Upholds all State Standards.”
***
The grinding intensified steadily as a stubborn pounding blossomed across my vision, gooseflesh grew as I anticipated the static transitioning to blue, the whine wept closer to signal the start of my Observation shift. With a warm hesitance, I recalled the displayed deterioration, intensifying my ache as I leered across the wall of screens. Taking note of familiar red and formless bags, I noted their dishonesty to the State as usual, however my sight hunted after another prize.
What honesty — what repugnance would he display for me today?
My vision settled impatiently over their destination. Squinting as I peered closer, despite the dull ache dotting my vision, I knew something was wrong with 04. His frame was, as always, curled and molded against the back corner, but I could see the unfamiliar jump of his neck, his contortion flinching away from me. I felt my face nearing the screen, my forehead pressed deeply as I tried to decipher what exactly had changed. The lines of snow blurred together as I investigated to see what had forced him away from my expectations. His figure pulled away stiff every few moments. A sharp, unfamiliar lift of his shoulders met beneath his rags before he returned, curling back into himself. He drew himself further from me, his body sculpted into the wall, ribs pushed through thin fabric as he pressed away, a wild rigidity suddenly taking over his form. My hands hovered over the keys required to change to his telescreen, my heart pounded against my ribcage, but I forced hesitation, unprepared for the display 04 would offer. With a sudden and sharp twitch, I crashed downwards as though lightning struck into me and the screen changed and I saw him.
He was as close as before, however now the screen dripped a wet, blurred red. He had his hand pushed into his mouth savagely, gripping for something unseen, before another twitch overtook him, violently twisting against himself, his hand came unfurled with strength I had not known him to have. In the clutches of his fingers, he held part of his rot, his mouth oozing thick gobs of pus and blood trailing as his pulled tooth gleaned — a putrid yellow shined against the streaking red of the telescreen. Acid burned up my throat, stinging wet blurred my vision as I watched him peer more intimately towards me, his mouth contorted into a wide and gummy grin, evidence of his deterioration dripped haphazardly away. The rot he gripped between his forefinger and thumb dropped, but the gaping in his teeth showed much further festering, pus indiscernible between the gumming of violent red and sharpness of yellow he hadn’t managed to rip. What was left of his decay drew awe from me; his grin widening further as if to finally display himself honestly.
He had been ripping his teeth out — for me.
He knew where I was — how I watched him. I could hear the wet crackling noise of his laughter start, his face pushing back into the screen, back into me and we were nose to lips. His gums gnashed violently against the leftover decay and the screen blurred further, maroon snow danced, and his high whines of laughter turned to wheezing and spittle, dripping against me and it was like he knew that I couldn’t — wouldn’t turn away from him. His wheezing slowed and I was met with a darkness for just a moment, a blindness I had never known, not even for a second, before he had covered me. The screen came alive with his release of light, coming away into a smeared tinge of pink.
A kiss.
Past the blushing haze, he stared into me, brown eyes with deep set wrinkles furled around the edges. The whites of his eyes had long since turned an ugly, violent ocher, highlighted only by the deep-set array of red. They were beautiful. He was beautiful.
His stare slowly came away lost, looking through me. His fingers dotted and dripping red came to just under his eye, rubbing fondly against familiar skin. Continuing, he smeared himself across his long, drooping jowls, layers coming apart streaking red. I heard his fervent panting begin again, undoubtedly oozing unseen spittle down his chin from his own removal just moments ago. He was no longer twitching and his eyes unfocused and he returned to me differently. My chest decompressed as a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding hollowed my frame, coming away lightheaded and with unsteady hands, again, I wrote;
“04 Demonstrates and Upholds all State Standards.”
***
My ears strained, ringing intensified the incessant pounding in my head, fingers failing to soothe as they pressed up my jowl. I listened for the familiar grinding to bring back the demand of Four.
What had only felt like a moment ago was now the memory of his display, Four’s screen had long since fizzled into darkness. My breath no longer perspired on the screen, creating a muddled fuzz. The evidence of my preoccupation dried a shameful stain, our future connections tainted by my inveterate nature. When blue slowly tempered, beginning to re-light the room, I stiffened, regaining control.
I no longer cared to see the others; their lack of variation did not pull me as the need of my previous reaction to Four. I knew them better than they knew themselves, knew that little would change over the passage of our time.
Little had ever changed for the others that I did not will.
I would send in their reports, of course, as mandated to maintain my dignity to the State, but they had proven they deserved none of my attention. They couldn’t care for me the way Four did. They lacked what he and I did not, innate perception that showed we were of a superior level.
He could see through them — the same as I could hear their presence.
Finally, I returned to the warmth of him, the rhythm of my panting grew to mirror his own, intimacy growing between us, our connection palpable, warm and wet. His eyes lost their mist as they grew into focus, the red crusted wrinkles greeted me with familiarity. My face cushioned into the tempered edges with reverence and desire, needing to see him in further glory.
Blackened nails scaled further up, showing me the remnants of yesterday’s demonstrations with the stain of a murky reddish-brown. I could still feel the warmth of his smile — of the gifts he saw fit to give me leaving gaps. My fingertips pressed against him again, my breath stained the screen similarly to how I’d see him do before, anticipation building against my chest, creating a pounding that echoed into my ears and settled into time with the pressure building behind my gaze, my body curled. His screen grew uncharacteristically clear through the smudged pink film of yesterday.
His fingers snailed forwards, up his emptied jowl and towards the warm crevice of his eye. His digits began to dig vehemently — horrendous and violent movements that caused the screen to distort away from me, blurring my warmth. His hand came away, fresh blood seeping into his grip, torrents of scarlet fell beyond our visibility.
His offer squelched in his grip, displayed before me, a brilliant depth of night stared back — Seeing me in a way no other could. His smile returned wide, dropping the distortion of colors down beyond my view. My gaze trailed, tears blurring my vision before I stared deeply into his cavity. Dark blood poured, rewetting brown streaks as it refused to pause.
Four straightened and his hands came into view, making no attempt to wipe away the steady stream. He pushed his palm painfully into the newly emptied socket, to highlight the depth I refused to look away from. His eye sharpened and with familiarity he pointed directly at me, making a short gesture downwards.
My body lit with electricity, lightning striking again, and with a trembling unsteady gaze, I followed his instruction downwards towards the depths. I reached forward, red dripping wet across my shaking hands, and I strained forwards before I gripped the familiarity.
Head pounding, I turned it over in my stained hands. It sat wet and heavy, as ocher streaked with red clashed against blackened nails — and the night stared back. Raising it with reverence, I brought it to the emptied socket — desperation marred my grip as I tried to fit it back into a rotted socket. How long had it been lost?
With a trembling hand, I wrote;
“Observer Four Demonstrates and Upholds all State Standards.”
— Kallum DeLuca (he/him) is a transgender man who lives in North Carolina with his wife and two unruly dogs. He primarily writes a genre blend of dystopian fiction and horror – his wife’s least favorite genre. He finds inspiration by taking life’s general anxieties to their breaking point.